


When Dreams come true

by sianii



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic, Eames just wants to be happy, Inception is way more fucked up then they show, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4936630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sianii/pseuds/sianii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Eames got an inkling that not everything was as simple and well as he had thought, was when Dom Cobb called him and madly yelled at him through the phone.</p>
<p>After Inception Arthur and Eames finally decided to leave a life of crime behind and move in together. Eames is very fond of that simple arrangement. To him he gets the bliss of having Arthur around with the conciousness of an open door if he needs it. At least he thinks that the door is wide open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Dreams come true

**Author's Note:**

> So this work was inspired by the beautiful art of Nikavarta (check her out. so good!)  
> I hope you guys like it!

Arthur felt the wet, sticky goo on his hands. Blood reddening his fingers and palms, running down his wrists and arms. The knife in his hand gleamed despite being as bloodied as his hands.

                “Why did you do that, Arthur? Why?” A desperate but familiar voice called him out of his stupor and finally Arthur looked up. Just meters away from him lay Mal. He noticed how unnaturally she was sprawled on the carpet, her arms and legs bent at angles that made her resemble a doll more than a human being. _Morbid_ was the word that sprang to his mind. It was then that he noticed the gaping hole in Mal’s stomach, guts still spilling out, while her blood continued to stream all over her torn dress.

                 Frantically Arthur looked back and forth between Mal, Dom, the knife and his hands. He could feel his heart stop and then pick up tenfold, while his whole body started shaking uncontrollably, his grip around the knife’s handle cramping at the same time. Dom’s lips where moving, Arthur noticed distantly, but he could not make out any words over the high-pitched whistle that penetrated his ears.

                 _This is a dream. We have to be dreaming. Mal infiltrated another job._ The words, like a mantra, calmed Arthur’s mind and suddenly he looked at the knife in his hand with a different kind of fixation. The job had failed. They needed to get out. He just had to use the knife. He didn’t have a gun. A knife wound, any kind, would take longer, hurt more, but it didn’t matter. With a glance at Mal and Dom, Arthur raised his knife...

 

              Eames leaned heavily against the closed door. Clumsily toeing off his running shoes, he calmed his breathing. When someone spent most of their time in dreams, possessing every talent and skill possible, one tended to forget that one had to actually work for that kind of fitness in reality. Or at least Eames had. Arthur seemed to be as in shape in reality as in every dream they had ever shared. Anyway, since they had retired (sort of) and moved in together (still a weird thought for Eames), Eames had noticed that Arthur’s cooking skills paired with a lack of adrenaline laden escapes, had him on the brink of becoming a couch potato. Hence he had started jogging. It was mostly bad in the sense that he had to acknowledge his own limits, but whatever Arthur thought to the contrary, Eames was a very ambitious man and he would not stop running until he could run a marathon without breaking a sweat.         

              In this moment though Eames wished very much he had embraced his role as lazy potato and stayed on the couch. He was sweaty and miserable, the runner’s high not quite kicking in, and he was certain that he was very badly smudging the beautiful door with his transpiration, something Arthur would not be happy about.

              "Darling?" Eames called out into the flat. “Mrs Behzadi from downstairs ambushed me again. She still insists on us coming down for dinner sometime to properly welcome us to the building.” They should probably just go. If they were to be serious about not being criminals they should start behaving less paranoid and more cordial. Besides, he had smelled Mrs Behzadi’s cooking and he was certain that she could cook a bloody fantastic lubia polow.

              After taking another deep breath Eames made his way into the flat. Arthur hadn’t answered him but that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes Arthur was so deep in thought that he simply could not hear Eames. The hallway opened into the living room area. On the right side you had doors leading to their studies and bedroom as well as a smaller bathroom. Through the huge windows opposite the entry Eames took in the amazing view of the river and towards Manhattan. He walked towards it but then turned left to enter the kitchen area. His instincts had been right. Arthur was standing at the kitchen island, his back to Eames and obviously working on dinner.

              With a smile on his face Eames glided behind Arthur and wound his arms around his partner’s waist. Arthur went ridged instantly and with a loud clatter the knife Arthur had used to cut berries slit over the countertop

              Arthur cursed before gradually relaxing in Eames grip, picking up the knife to continue his work. Eames couldn’t help but laugh. “Careful, you. You could have stabbed someone.” Taking on a more serious tone he said “Seriously Arthur, what if I had been an assassin or a hired gun? I would very much dislike to come home and find you in a pile of blood just because you are getting complacent on your old days.” He gave Arthur a slap on his butt for good measure. Of course he was teasing Arthur but he was only half joking. Arthur managed a smile that was more grimace than amusement. “I’m sorry, I was just…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Eames might have found it odd, if Arthur hadn’t turned in that moment to kiss him, a very logical reason to interrupt any spoken word.

              Automatically, Eames’s hands went to Arthur’s hip, fitting his fingers around the bones, finding the spaces he knew so well by now. It wasn’t wild, it wasn’t deep but Arthur’s lips on his, his scent filling up his nose, made Eames’s toes curl on the cold stone floor. It was hard to admit to himself how very much he enjoyed this. Building a life with Arthur. No killers, no drama, no death. Just them. Simple. Easy. Happy on the most basic level.

              After a while Arthur pulled back. Eames’s eyes fluttered open slowly and when he caught Arthur’s look he couldn’t help but let out a defensive “What?”

              “You stink,” Arthur said disapprovingly. His eyes were bright and full of that intelligence and warmth that Eames had so desperately wanted to be directed at him the first time he had seen Arthur look at Mal that way. “As if you would mind.” Eames laughed and pushed Arthur against the kitchen island, crowding him in and pressing himself against Arthur, getting Arthur full of sweat and himself full of the berry juices from Arthur’s hands. “Ugh, Eames, no!” Arthur grumbled but only made a half-hearted attempt to push Eames away. “Oh, Arthur dear, you look a bit dishevelled, as if some big sweaty man rubbed himself all over you. I think you need a shower.” Arthur didn’t protest when Eames dragged him towards the master bathroom and Eames felt like curling his toes again.

 

 

The first time Eames got an inkling that not everything was as simple and well as he had thought, was when Dom Cobb called him and madly yelled at him through the phone.

              “What the bloody hell are you even on about, Cobb?” Eames asked exasperatedly when he could get a word in. “Arthur! I think he is in deep shit and I need your help to find him.” Eames’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he glanced over at Arthur’s study, where the man himself had been pondering over a stack of books and his laptop for hours. “You mean you don’t know where Arthur is and now you think he’s in trouble?” Cobb breathed a relieved yes into the phone and Eames nodded slowly, despite Cobb being on the other end of the country. “Good news then, Cobb. I have it on good authority that Arthur is alive and kicking and does very much not desire an extraction.” What followed was a silence so baffled and long that Eames contemplated to simply hang up on the man and destroy the sim card to extend it. “So, where is he then?” Cobb finally asked. He had calmed down but he sounded a mixture of confused and hurt. “Sorry, mate. Can’t tell you.” Eames was still looking at Arthur’s study’s door, thoughts spinning. It was to be expected that Eames would have no desire to ever speak a word again with Cobb. Eames would in fact very much support Arthur if he made the same decision but as far as Eames knew, Arthur had remained a loyal friend to Cobb and the remains of Mal’s family. Cobb not having so much as a simple way to contact Arthur was simply strange. It was unexpected to Cobb as well, considering his reaction.

              “Eames? Are you still there?” Cobb’s voice yanked Eames out of his thoughts. “Can’t or won’t tell me?” Eames nearly chuckled. Cobb wasn’t stupid but if Arthur hadn’t told him, Eames sure as hell wouldn’t. “Same difference, Cobb. Same. Difference. Ah, I think the building is going through a tunnel now. Ta.” Eames hung up and for good measure switched off the phone and took out the sim. He didn’t crush it but that was as far as his consideration for Cobb went.

              Heavily Eames sunk back into the couch and picked the book back up, which he had been reading when Cobb had interrupted him. It took him a while until he realised that he had been reading over the same paragraph several times. With a huff he shut the book and uncaringly discarded it on the couch beside him. Eames bit his lip while his eyes kept flickering towards Arthur’s study. “Oh fuck it,” he muttered when he got up and slinked to Arthur’s study. Without the courtesy of a knock he entered the room. Arthur was still hunched over his desk working away over whatever a retired criminal felt the need to work away over.

              “Good evening, darling,” Eames chirped as he walked into the room fully. Arthur startled, his head snapping up and his eyes going wide while he pushed himself away from the desk, close to jumping from his chair. Eames could exactly see the millisecond it took Arthur to realise who had entered and that Eames was not there to maul him. It was quite comical and kind of endearing, actually. “Eames,” Arthur breathed out in relief. Despite the undercurrent in his voice, Arthur didn’t relax. He looked tense and uncomfortable, staring up at Eames in question.

              “Who else would it be?” Eames strolled closer, sprawling into the chair opposite Arthur. Arthur just shrugged. “You never know.” He made a bad attempt at being charming about it grinning and showing those dimples that Eames simply loved, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. Now that Eames looked at Arthur properly, he couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his partner’s eyes. Arthur was always up before him. Had been the very first time they had slept together back before everything had happened that had, eventually, brought them to this place. Arthur had always been an easy sleeper. Falling asleep by sheer will it seemed within seconds and not waking unless someone kicked down the door. Since they had moved in together, Eames had more than once seen Arthur tossing and turning, getting up frustratedly after some time, saying he wasn’t tired yet and leaving the bedroom. More often than not Eames had put him to bed for a whole different reason than sleeping. Eames had enjoyed it. It was only in that moment that he realised that it had taken its toll on Arthur.

              “Are you okay?” The question seemed to surprise Arthur. He cocked his head and looked at Eames in confusion. “Yeah, sure.” Silence followed in which the two men just looked at each other, Arthur finally raising an eyebrow before pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Is there a reason you came in, Eames?” Eames couldn’t tell why in that moment he noticed that Arthur never called him endearments but he did and for some reason it nagged at him. “I…,” For a second Eames contemplated to let it go after all, to not make a fuss but when he looked at Arthur’s dark circles again, Eames felt driven by more than mere curiosity.

              “Cobb called me. He wanted to know where you are as in he doesn’t know that we are in fact living together.” Eames studied Arthur’s reaction very closely. As soon as Eames had said Cobb’s name, something seemed to close off. Had he been tense before he seemed positively on edge now. Not that much about his exterior changed but Eames knew Arthur long enough to see the subtle changes. The way his neck seemed to stiffen and the way his hand clenched and then deliberately unclenched.

              “So, what’s up with that?” Eames asked awkwardly when Arthur seemed disinclined to speak. Arthur seemed to consider his words carefully before he said, “It hadn’t crossed my mind to call him. Him being busy with the kids and all.” Arthur sounded honest and Eames could simply not tell if Arthur was just lying very well or being serious. Even if Arthur was telling the truth, it made no sense for him to cut all ties with Cobb. Before Eames could decide if he wanted to press the issue, Arthur stood up. “I’m going to bed.” Without a glance back at Eames, he left the study.

              Eames remained seated a while longer trying to make sense of what had just happened. Because _something_ had happened. _Something_ was up. Something was _wrong_. Eames couldn’t put his finger on it but it made his gut clench anyway.

  
_Cobb_. In front of Arthur’s eyes appeared the face of a handsome man, grinning manically as he hurried to hug Arthur close in some kind of victory. Cobb. A friend, close and ambiguous as ties by blood. Love, resentment, loyalty. The sound of the name wound him tight. Made him want to flee or fight. He hadn’t talked to him since that one time after inception. He should call Cobb. It didn’t feel like he would.

 

                 Arthur felt heavy. He lay and stared. Sometimes he didn’t stare. He just closed his eyes and continued to lie. He wasn’t even tired. Correction: he didn’t feel sleepy. Tired he was very much. Exhausted even. If pressed to answer why specifically, Arthur thought he most likely couldn’t have answered but there were so many exhausting things in his life, this day in bed was very well deserved.

               He had in fact gotten up in the morning. He had had breakfast with Eames and then Eames had left to meet some old friend in the city. Arthur had been gifted with a free morning. Sitting down at his desk he hadn’t been able to think of a single thing that needed his immediate attention. There were some consulting jobs he could have looked into and he had planned to go over his and Eames’s accounts but staring at his dark laptop screen none of those things had seemed very pressing. After a while of staring Arthur had gotten up to browse his book shelves. After Inception Arthur had run into a bookshop and bought every single book he had had marked down as interesting over the previous five years. Nearly a hundred new books had been surrounding him but not one had caught his interest. He had picked out a book at random and started reading. It hadn’t work well. Arthur had drifted off time and time again until he finally gave up and put it back.

                 Aimlessly he had wandered through the apartment and had ended up sitting down on their bed. He had simply meant to rest for a second but then he had stretched out and crawled under the covers, discarding of tie, shirt, pants and just stopped doing anything. He had nothing to do and nothing he wanted to do. He didn’t feel content exactly but he didn’t feel like doing anything else either.

                 With a quiet groan Arthur turned around and buried deeper under the covers. Most of the time he didn’t think of anything specific but from time to time there were faces, places and memories that jumped into his consciousness. Some were Eames, most were about Dreamsharing and again and again Dom and Mal. He didn’t want to think about them, but the memories came anyway.

Eames’s whistling echoed in the building’s hallway as he made his way towards their flat. Seeing Yusuf had been good. He had not yet forgiven the chemist for his greediness that had nearly cost them their sanity but after all Eames had always known about the man’s ruthlessness so there was no one to blame but himself for letting Yusuf scheme behind his back. Anyway, now that Eames did not have to work with him ever again, things were getting back to being more relaxed and Eames very much welcomed that change.

              Their flat was quiet when he entered. The quietness wasn’t unusual. Arthur rarely put on loud music and during that time of day he was most likely to be found in his study. Eames slipped out of his shoes, hung up his coat and went to the kitchen to put on coffee. He was still whistling when he went into the bedroom.

              The tune died on his lips once he took in the scenery. Arthur was curled up under the covers, half of the cushions spilled on the floor and Arthur’s Armani pants discarded at the end of the bed, unfolded and unattended to. The shock to Eames’s system was so severe that it took him a couple of seconds to regain the power over his lingual system.

              “Arthur?” Eames voice sounded more uncertain than he actually was. All he got in response was a disgruntled groan. “What are you doing, Arthur?” Tentatively he stepped closer to the bed. All in all Eames felt like a wild life researcher confronted with till then undocumented behaviour by a well-known species. “Resting.” Came a muffled answer from somewhere under the covers. “At three in the afternoon?” Eames couldn’t help but press. The answer was nothing like Eames could have expected.

              Suddenly the covers were thrown back and Arthur sat upright in bed starring daggers at him. “Yes, Eames. I am resting at three fucking pm. What the fuck is your problem with that?” Eames was about to assure him that he had no problem at all that he was simply surprised but Arthur didn’t let him get a word in. “Seriously, what is your fucking deal? Why can’t you just leave me alone for like a minute, huh?” With that Arthur got up and stormed into the adjacent bathroom. The click of the locking door sounded unbelievably loud in Eames’s ears. Arthur’s anger was like a slap in his face and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

              “Fucking hell, you wanker. I asked a bloody simple question and you bite my head off like that? What’s the fucking matter with _you_? I don’t even know why I put up with your shite right now!” Eames was halfway out of the door when he realised that Arthur hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t yelled or made as much as a sound. Overcome with sudden worry he stepped closer to the door. “Arthur?”

              There was no answer for a long enough time to have Eames contemplate breaking in. When he spoke, Arthur’s voice sounded very subdued through the door. “Leave,” was all Eames could make out. “I’m sorry, love?” Eames pressed. “I said: _leave_.” This time Arthur’s voice was louder but it sounded just as distant and emotionless as before. Eames was taken aback. Yelling, fighting, possibly ending in sex, that he could make sense of but this locking himself away was confusing and worrying at the same time.

              For several more minutes Eames stood in front of the door, unsure what to do or say. Finally he turned and walked out of the flat.

 

The ropes around his wrists were tight. He was sweating and nauseous, his hands going numb as the rope stopped his circulation. He felt his skin catch against the rope, little bits of skin sticking as the rope cut into it. Next to him Dom was crouching. He wasn’t immobilized by anything but his own weird excuse for a moral code. Arthur knew he was pleading with Mal, but Arthur couldn’t make the words out anymore. Everything was fussy and painful and he just didn’t die and Dom wouldn’t kill him, fixated as he was on Mal. Mal, who was standing above him with a dagger from the 15th century style decoration that their mark preferred. The holes that the knife had drilled into him were gushing, cuts and tears. Arthur’s throat felt raw from the screams her torture had elicited.

               Right now Mal was debating with Dom. Arthur didn’t know if he should feel happy about that, her lack of creating new wounds slowing down his dying process. Through the fog it took him a moment to realize that Mal was moving towards him again.

              _How can you care for anyone but me? How can you look out for anyone when I am gone? And how can you dare to look upon him?_

The words had no meaning to him but suddenly the cold steal of the dagger was pressed against his cheek, pointing towards his eye. Arthur whimpered, fear striking his body. He could feel the adrenaline pumping. He had suffered so much but the idea of her cutting his eyes out was too gruesome to stay passive. The heat was rising in his cheeks as his heart sped up and he desperately tried to get his hands free without having his movements have her cut him. It was to no avail, his whole body was shaking. Mal was still talking but he couldn’t hear. All he felt was the heat of the blood, the heat of his body and wetness between his legs…

 

The glow of the sunrise already showed in the east when Eames made his way back towards the flat. He had contemplated for a long time whether he should go back at all. This was not the life he had envisioned for them. It wasn’t simple and as hard as it was to admit, it wasn’t happy. Something was wrong with Arthur and whatever it was affected Eames too. It wasn’t only Arthur’s issue. It was their issue. The thought scared Eames. It meant that it was also his responsibility. That he _had_ responsibility. In theory he could just skip town, abandon Arthur to fend for himself. It didn’t feel like an option. It didn’t feel like Eames had a choice to do anything but stay.

              Eames stopped at a street corner, trying to catch his breath for a second and get the exhaustion out of his limbs. He had been so angry when he had left. Considering getting bloody wasted, he had made its way through Manhattan. The desire for alcohol had subsided when he had walked through Central Park. Feeling restless he had nearly hoped to get mugged, giving him an excuse to punch someone and let it all out. The thought had kept him wandering through the park for hours, most likely an idea as unhealthy as getting pissed. In the end the anger had subsided and worry had taken its place. The signs had been subtle but reflecting over the last couple of months, Arthur had been terribly out of character. Eames had to admit he hadn’t noticed, too blinded by the bliss of retirement and domesticity but it had been there from the start. More unsettling though was that Arthur didn’t seem to notice either. Or he was so deep in denial that he couldn’t.

              Ultimately that meant that Eames didn’t know what was wrong and Arthur didn’t know something was wrong. Not a great point to start from. Not to mention the fact that Eames still couldn’t quite believe that it was something that he was actually attempting to address.

              Unlocking the door, Eames was cautious to make no sound, slipping out of his shoes to tiptoe through the flat. He was taken aback to see light coming from their open bedroom door and he half expected to find Arthur waiting up for him, remorseful about their strife.

              Instead he found a half-naked, meaning bottomless, Arthur frantically clawing at the sheets, trying to apparently change them at 5:30 in the morning. Eames was so startled by the visual that it took him a second to notice the faint smell of piss that was not coming from the bathroom.

              “Darling,” Eames whispered and Arthur froze. Eames was about to take a step into the room but the look on Arthur’s face when he turned towards him stopped him. Arthur’s eyes were red and haunted. He looked like a deer not caught in headlights but who had been chased for hours by blood lusting hounds and hunters. “Why didn’t you stay away.” It wasn’t a question and Arthur’s voice cracked halfway through the sentence. They both seemed to know that there was no unseeing this, whatever it was and at the same time Arthur’s eyes were pleading with Eames to do exactly that, to turn away and forget.

              Eames swallowed, frozen in place by indecision. Maybe this was his queue to leave this behind. A part of Arthur didn’t want him here, but not wanting him didn’t mean that he didn’t need him.

              Slowly, deliberately, Eames shook his head. Arthur sucked in a breath and slowly let the sheets fall, which he was still bunching in his hands.

              “Go shower,” Eames said quietly, “I’ll change the sheets.” For a moment Arthur looked like he would want to protest, then he briskly turned away and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

              Eames stared at the closed door until he heard the shower being turned on, the water jet dispersing water and hitting the glass doors loudly. It snapped Eames out of his transfixed state and he went to work. As the smell and Arthur’s state had indicated, he had wetted the bed. Eames tried hard not to let what he saw and was doing now influence his view on the man he loved but it was difficult. There was this picture of Arthur in his head and in the last twelve hours he had to alter that picture to a point where he wasn’t sure that he actually knew the man.

              He put the soiled sheets into the washing machine quickly and made up the bed, changing into his own pyjamas, so he could slide into bed.

              The shower was still running when he had gotten comfortable under the blanket, a couple of scented candles chasing away the last hints of what had happened. Glancing at the bathroom door, he took out his phone and typed in a couple of the things that he had noticed. Arthur’s jumpy reactions, the lack of interest into any activities, avoiding Cobb, not sleeping and the sudden and harsh awakening from dreams, possibly from nightmares. The first result was about anxiety disorders, the next three got more specific all naming PTSD specifically as a condition. Eames clicked on one of the links and read over the list of causes, symptoms and disorder developments. He could feel his heart speed up, his gut clenching and he glanced towards the door, dread taking a hold of him. He was no doctor and this was fucking Google but it made sense and it scared the shit out of Eames. Of course he had heard of PTSD but he hadn’t even considered…

              The shower turned off and Eames quickly locked his phone and discarded it on the bedside table, turning the lights off as well. It only took a couple of minutes until Arthur opened the door, stopping for a minute in the doorway, looking more unsure and beaten down than Eames had ever seen him.

              “Come here,” Eames said into the semi dark, the morning light already coming in through the windows. Arthur seemed relieved as he tumbled towards the bed and buried himself under the sheets and in Eames’s embrace. “Eames, I’m…” Arthur tried to say but Eames shushed him. “It’s okay, darling. Just sleep for now. I’m not going anywhere.”

              It seemed such a simple thing to say but the idea lay heavy in Eames’s stomach. Still, when Arthur pressed his face into the crook of Eames’s neck and pressed closer, Eames knew that even when it got hard that Arthur was worth the struggle and that Eames would do close to anything to make sure that Arthur knew.

**Author's Note:**

> This work got way shorter than it might have been due to me actually having a life. I am not a health care professional and I did not discuss issues like PTSD during my education. All I had were some informational pages by the Majo Clinic and similar sources. I tried to make the story a lot about Eames's reaction, having to deal with a partner with mental health issues. I still hope that my portrayl of Arthur's suffering wasn't too far off the mark.
> 
> If they story gets some likes or encouragement, I might write something about where they go from this point. I'd be delighted to hear if sth like that is wanted.


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